


Santa Battle

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Bottom!Link, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Santa Suits, Santa porn, gloved hands, seriously this is just smut, slight Santa kink?, slight orgasm denial, which is like daddy kink but festive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: Rhett and Link both emerge dressed as Santa. That just can't be, so they challenge each other to see who's the better Santa to help them decide who gets to be Santa and who has to go change.





	Santa Battle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoctoClaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoctoClaw/gifts).



> This is straight up Santa smut. Blame goes to the suggestion this past week that we might see both Rhett and Link dressed as Santa, also the weird Santa art, and my own brain that likes to churn out the strangest combination of kinky shit. Nocto, Merry Christmas, and I hope this weird thing hits the spot for you!
> 
> ALSO huge thanks to thisiscyrene (ao3)/@killthenaughtyboy (tumblr) for her services as Master Beta. <3

“Oh, ‘ho ho’- _no_. One of us is gonna have to change,” Rhett says, playing up the character he’s dressed as for a laugh as he walks back into the office from the dressing room. 

He’s dressed like Santa from his hat down to his boots, but so is Link. The biggest difference between them is that to get a suit big enough for Rhett, they’d had to get a different brand so his is a darker red, more luxe velour than Link’s is. 

“All right, then go change,” Link says in this stern voice like he’s expecting Rhett to jump to it. That’s not what happens, though. 

“What makes you think I’m the one who’s gotta change?” Rhett looks indignant, not about to concede so fast.

“‘Cause I said so.” Link’s refusing to bend even when he knows that arguably Rhett has a leg up on him in this arena. 

“Gimme one good reason.”

“Cause I’m the better Santa,” Link says, cockier about that so-called ‘fact’ than a fake-bearded Santa has any right to be. 

“In your dreams. You’re an elf if I’ve ever seen one,” Rhett scoffs at him like the words are an insult, but there’s a flicker of something warmer in his eyes as he drinks in Link’s sorry attempt at a Santa costume.

“And why’s that? Just cause I’m shorter than you?” Link looks like he’s got something to prove, standing taller, squaring off his shoulders as he leans into Rhett’s space.

“Well for starters, yeah. Plus, I got a home-grown Santa beard, and you’ve got…” here, Rhett steps closer to Link, black boots heavy on the wood floor as he goes, and catches the curls of Link’s fake white beard in his fingers and tugs it away from his chin, watching how the elastic pulls at his ears. “...whatever this is.”

“Hey, quit it,” Link says, giving Rhett a swat to stop him from messing with him. “Mine looks more ‘Santa.’ Who cares if it’s real or not.”

“You on somethin’?” Rhett asks with a smirk and gives his own temporarily colored-white beard a preening scruffle, tipping his head up to look over the top of Link’s at his reflection in a decorative mirror on the wall behind him. He makes a way better Santa than Link could ever hope to. He’s got the beard, the jolly round cheeks… he’s a shoo-in. “I’m a way better Santa than you could ever dream of being.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout you put your Santa where your mouth is and prove it,” Link says with a level of awkward that only he can achieve, “Whoever can give the other one what he really wants for Christmas is the better Santa. Loser has to be the elf.” 

Link ought to know he’s sealed his fate right then and there, that he’s opened a tin of cookies he can’t possibly finish. The times they’d done anything prior to this had been quicker than he’d have liked it, fumbling, awkward, and they’re still at that phase where they feel like they need an excuse to touch. Like just wanting wasn’t enough reason to drop the bullshit and let go.

“Deal,” Rhett says with a twinkle in his eye that’s nothing at all about Christmas spirit, and all about proving Link wrong and showing him up (and stripping him down). “I’ll go first. Show you how it’s done.”

Link has to roll his eyes there. Rhett is _always_ like this. It never fails and it doesn’t matter what they’re on about, if there’s a competition then Rhett’s gotta get all cocky and act like a jerk about it. Link actually finds the joke funny most of the time, more often when he’s in on the joke, but there’s times when this played up jerky attitude just rubs him wrong. Now’s one of those times. 

“Fine. Give me what I want for Christmas, then. _Show me how it’s done,”_ Link challenges him, borderline sing-song-mocks Rhett.

“Whaddaya mean, give you what you want? I don’t just _know_. You gotta tell me.”

Link falters for a second like he doesn’t know what’s coming when Rhett moves around him gracefully and sits down on the sofa and starts pat-patting his lap, inviting Link to sit. It shouldn’t be so shocking, given the fact that they’ve been screwing around anytime there’s the barest excuse to, but apparently it is. The look on Link’s face is absolutely priceless. 

“Nuh uh. No way. Santa don’t sit on Santa’s lap. It ain’t right.”

“Sit your ass down, sleigh boy, and tell Santa what you want him to give you.”

There’s something in Rhett’s voice that doesn’t brook argument, this tone that stirs him to move and obey. It’s not the first time he’s reacted like that to something Rhett said or the way he’d said it, but it certainly was sticking out to him right now. 

Link moves and sits down sideways on Rhett’s lap, moving gingerly, careful not to make this too obscene. It’s laughable really that he’s trying so hard to keep this clean, given the fact that he was hoping for exactly the opposite when he’d challenged Rhett to the Santa Battle. 

Rhett’s big hand, gloved in Santa-white, rests on Link’s thigh, the touch innocent enough for now. Rhett’s doing his best Santa impression when he looks up at him, eyes wide and kind, but twinkling with a decidedly un-Santa-like mischief. Smiling, he asks, “What’s your name, little boy?”

“Link-- Lincoln,” he’s flustered and fucks up his own name. “Charles Lincoln… I go by Link.”

“Charles Lincoln Link,” Rhett messes with him by stringing all his names together like that’s how they belong. “And what is it you want for Christmas, young man?”

There’s nothing about what Rhett had said that should do anything to him, and yet it does. Here he is, sitting in a Santa costume, beard and all, and something flippant Rhett had said has him feeling suddenly small. It’s a strange war he’s waging in himself, and Rhett, deciding to interpret his silence as fear over asking for his deepest Christmas wish, rubs a warm, encouraging hand over the small of Link’s back through the soft velour Santa coat he’s wearing which just makes it worse. 

“I-- I don’t know,” he flounders around, not thinking fast enough to answer. The way Rhett’s talking to him and touching on him has him on tilt, off kilter. Not able to think on his feet fast enough to think of something good to say. It means Rhett’s got the advantage, and it’s not fair. 

“Oh, come now… there’s got to be something you want,” that hand that had been sitting on Link’s thigh starts to move up slow. The glove means that Rhett can’t feel the soft fabric, keeps this just a measure more impersonal. 

“I want you to make me feel good for Christmas…” Link manages, ears going as red as his suit. Shifting slightly where he’s seated, side-saddle across Rhett’s lap, he’s starting to think he’s not that far ahead of Rhett here. Thinks he can feel a tell-tale _something_ pressing into his hip as this stretches on.

Link can hear the smile in Rhett’s voice when he answers, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, little boy…”

“I want you to make me cum,” Link dares, the sound of his own voice in his ears rougher and more eager than he’d imagined it would be.

Strange as it may seem, this is the most direct they’ve been about their desires. Up till now, things have just happened like kindling catching fire under the right conditions. Any talk has come after, smoothing things over, reassuring that whatever this thing was, it was okay. But talking about what they wanted? The closest they’d come was mumbled check-ins of ‘is this okay?’ during.

“Oh, yeah?” Rhett asks. He’s never heard Link ask for what he wanted so deliberately, and the reality of it catches him by surprise. Hungrily, Rhett breathes him in and Link can feel his breath warm on his neck, his now-white beard tickling at his ear as he speaks. “And how would you like me to do that for you?”

“With your hand,” Link moves again, unable to sit still. He instantly regrets what he’d asked for, wishes he’d asked to be fucked instead, sitting here in Rhett’s lap like this. Maybe facing him, maybe facing away. 

“Do you deserve it, Charles? Have you been a good boy all year long?” Rhett asks, starting to tease his thumb back and forth over Link’s thigh, eager to give in before he’s even gotten his answer.

 _Fuck_ , but there’s something about Rhett calling him Charles like that that goes right to his cock. Rhett leans into the word, his name, like he’s needling him with it, trying to hold it over his head. No one calls him Charles anymore, _no one_ , not even his family, so the whisper of it in his ear is intimate and knowing, like a secret only they share. He forgets that he’s supposed to answer long enough that Rhett asks the question again. 

“You haven’t been naughty, have you?” Rhett tugs Link’s Santa hat off with the hand not resting in his lap, flips the elastic off of one ear to let the beard fall away, hanging loose around his neck. Makes it easier for Link to find this new role, to play the naughty boy trying to get what he wants from Santa regardless of the fact that he’s definitely been the farthest thing from good. 

“...I’ve tried to be good… b-but yeah, I have been,” Link admits softly, awkwardly, shocking himself with where he’s taking this. With what he’s willing to say when they’re here like this, playing a role. “--been naughty. I’ve been messin’ around with my best friend…”

Rhett just makes this soft _tsk tsk_ sound of disapproval in his ear that rolls into a low rumble, like he’s thinking to himself about the situation he’s been presented with. “Mmm, oh, dear… what am I going to do with you? Naughty little boys don’t deserve to get what they want… but that doesn’t mean you get _nothing..._ ”

While Rhett’s talking he’s maneuvering him around in his lap so instead of sitting sideways he’s faced away, Link’s back to Rhett’s front. It’s easy to touch him like this, easy to reach him wherever he wants him. Easy for white-gloved hands to rub over his thighs and just barely skim where they’re wanted, between his legs, on their way to helping him ease his too-big Santa pants down skinny hips. There’s a lot of shifting involved in inching them down, a lot of Link leaning back heavy against him and Rhett’s big hands guiding him to let it happen. 

Link moves to help when Rhett doesn’t push his underwear down to follow. 

“You asked for a gift and you can’t even wait for me give it to you. My, but you _are_ naughty,” Rhett murmurs to him and swats his hand away, satisfied to see and hear the way his breath hitches when he’s called out for being the naughty boy he is.

“Sorry,” Link stammers, his lisp slipping out around the edges.

“You’re lucky you’re getting anything at all, you know,” Rhett nuzzles into Link’s neck and feels the way he lets his head fall to the side, giving him room to kiss if he wanted, greedy and eager for more, for anything he can get. Maybe half the reason they haven’t needed to talk about what it is they wanted out of this new layer of their friendship is that Link in particular is so easy to read. Rhett didn’t exactly need a wishlist read to him to know what it was Link wanted.

Rhett traces the length of Link’s erection through the fabric of his Panda Claus MeUndies, feeling the way he tenses and shifts back against him at the move. There’s so much fabric between them even still, and it’s all he can do to keep from pulling off his gloves and tugging Link’s underwear down to get a grip of him, skin against skin, but that’s not what this is about. He’s giving Link what he’d asked for… almost. He wants to feel good, he’d asked to cum, but he hasn’t been a good boy. So he’s gonna have to take what he can get.

“Tell me, what you been doin’ with your friend?”

Link gasps, clearly not expecting that question or having to think to put words together while Rhett was touching him like this. He wasn’t good at doing two things at once under the best of circumstances. Like this? It was practically hopeless.

“Just… stuff like this…” Link looks down at Rhett’s gloved hand on his barely contained dick, the other resting heavy on his thigh, and rests his hands on Rhett’s forearms, not knowing what else to do with them. 

“You sit on your friend’s lap and ask him to let you cum?” Rhett pushes back, trying to get Link flustered, get him talking. The glove is absorbing the sweat from his palm that otherwise would catch against the fabric of Link’s underwear, against his warm cock if he slipped his hand inside. Right now, he smooths his hand down neatly between his thighs, cups and rubs him slowly. With a hand as big as his, he covers every inch of Link and more, fingertips grazing bare thighs.

“N-no… no, we just, we fuck sometimes,” Link’s cheeks are blazing hot as he admits that outloud, overwhelmingly aware of Rhett’s big hand on him. The thing is they both know they fuck, but they’ve never outright said it like that. He’s never heard Rhett talk like that, either. They’ve asked, sure, _y’wanna fuck?_ finding its way into their vocabulary when they’re stealing time away with each other. More often than not, though, it’s _you want my hand or my mouth?_

“He’s a lucky guy, your friend…” has Rhett wanted to venture into talking dirty before this? Because he seems at home in it, like the words come easy, “Bet that tight ass of yours feels real good. You like it when he fucks you, boy?”

“Oh _fuck_... yeah I do,” the words escape Link in a frenzied rush and he’s grabbing hold of Rhett’s forearms now, his grip tight on him, like if he didn’t have hold of him he might fall right off his lap.

Rhett can’t carry on with the gloves on, touching Link through his underwear. He takes a second to tug the gloves off before pushing the elastic waist of Link’s boxer briefs down enough to ease his dick free, and curls one hand around him and gives a slow squeeze. 

Link groans softly, hips rising into that touch. It’s more than Link’s gotten up till this point, but it’s not enough and he wants more. As Rhett carries on touching him, jerking him off slow, Link moves to try and take more. He can feel Rhett hard against him, the soft velour of his Santa pants pressed to Link’s now-bare ass as he moves, and he thinks if he just pushes his buttons he’ll get what he’d asked for. If he makes this good enough for Rhett, that Rhett will let him cum. So Link’s squirming his hips, feels the solidity of Rhett’s bulge settling between his cheeks as he rocks back on him, proving himself to be exactly the kind of naughty boy who shouldn’t be allowed to get what he wanted. 

“Good boys don’t grind down on Santa’s dick like little sluts, Charles,” Rhett breathes the words like a threat against Link’s ear and hears the answering whimper, and feels smug, satisfied. He’s winning, the better Santa between the two of them, giving Link what he wants even if he’s telling him he refuses to. That Link’s been too bad to get a present this year. 

“What do you say?” Rhett asks, big hand sweeping back up his cock, thumb rubbing slow circles over the head, spreading the precum over that sensitive skin. 

“I’m sorry, Santa… I’m trying to be good, but it’s so hard…” 

Rhett’s punctuates Link’s words with a squeeze that’s the punchline to the joke, highlights the double entendre of _hard._ Link whimpers his response and shifts, tries to spread his legs but he can only so far because his Santa pants are hindering his movement. 

“No ‘buts’... what do you say?”

“I’m sorry, Santa. I’ll be good for you…” 

Rhett can see how flushed Link is, a mix of aroused need and embarrassment at being so vocal, letting his desire be laid bare. Rhett tucks his chin against Link’s shoulder and peers down the length of his chest to get a good look at him, at that long cock wrapped up in his big fist. Watches as he brings him close to the edge with long, slow strokes until Link’s thighs are shaking with desperate need, until he can feel how his body coils up tight like a drum again and again, trying to bridge the gap between what he’s getting and what he needs to get off. Link’s practically panting with need and he’d be digging his nails into Rhett’s skin, if not for the Santa costume. He’s close and he’s sweat-soaked, hair clinging to his forehead, bits of the plasticy white fake beard sticking to his chin where it’s hanging there around his neck from the elastic.

And that’s when Rhett stops. When his hand comes away and, instead, presses flat against Link’s belly up underneath the loose Santa jacket he’s wearing. He holds Link tight while he squirms, body nearly thrashing as the energy built up inside him tries to find somewhere to go when he’s not being allowed cum. It doesn’t matter how many times Link tries to pry Rhett’s hand off his belly, he’s not putting it back on Link’s dick and the loss of the touch is agony. Link gives up and tries instead to pick up where he’d left off, tries to take his dick in hand, but Rhett doesn’t allow that, either. Pulls Link’s hands away and holds his arms at his sides by the wrists. 

“What happened to being good for me?” Rhett noses against the shell of Link’s ear as he asks the question. The scent of sex and need is heavy in the air. He’s won already but he just needs Link to admit it. 

“Please, Rhett,” Link’s breaking out of the game, helpless and too needy to remember just what it is they’re playing at. There’s not much he wouldn’t do or say if Rhett would give him what he needed. “...please let me cum.” 

“Okay… but first, tell me: who’s the better Santa?” Rhett’s words are warm with a devious grin. 

“You are… you’re the best Santa,” Link doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t care what it means to lose. He just _needs_. 

“Good boy… now go put on that elf costume for me and come back in here, and maybe I’ll give you what you asked for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting, and subscribing!


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